


5260 Maplewood Lane

by atlas_oulast



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Be More Chill Big Bang, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/F, Fluff & Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_oulast/pseuds/atlas_oulast
Summary: for the be more chill big bang.tws for rape/non-con, fire, character death, ghosts, mentions of murder, brief mentions of suicide attempt, and a coma.





	5260 Maplewood Lane

**Author's Note:**

> for the be more chill big bang. 
> 
> tws for rape/non-con, fire, character death, ghosts, mentions of murder, brief mentions of suicide attempt, and a coma.

 

Jeremy Heere had officially lost his virginity.

Jeremy Heere had officially been invalidated.

Jeremy Heere was zipping up his onesie as fast as he could, thank god Chloe was asleep-

"Jeremy, it would not be ideal for you to return to the party just yet."

Ah yes, the very person... er, thing who'd allowed this to happen. It wasn't entirely Chloe's fault, she was drunk, so drunk, and the Squip had just made him say yes made him do things he didn't want to do didn't want to do didn't want to do stop it stop it stop

"Shut the fuck up," Jeremy snapped, pulling on the hood and stumbling out of the room, eyes adjusting to the bright, rapidly changing lights of the party and ears adjusting to the background roar of the party becoming just the roar of the party. His skin was crawling and he felt gross and terrible and he needed to hide hide

He saw a piece of bright pink construction paper with 'BATHROOM' scrawled on in messy handwriting, probably Jake's, and he tried the doorknob. Unlocked.

He slipped inside, locked the door, and slid down against the door, drawing his knees up to his forehead and leaning his head against them, body shaking from sobs.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jeremy. Just gotta find a way to make this about you, huh?"

Jeremy eeped a cry and looked up so quickly his neck popped.

There was Michael, half zipped up in what looked like a body bag with beer cans and empty solo cups hot glued to it in the bathtub, and then he stepped out of it entirely, out of the bathtub, just staring.

"Michael?" Jeremy asked. "I-I didn't know you were i-invited to this p-party."

"I wasn't," Michael said shortly. "Which is why I was wearing this... clever disguise. Too bad you didn't sit by the bathtub, was going to try and scare you with it. Oh well, it’s not the end of the world."

Jeremy continued to stare. It didn't... he didn't... he couldn't think straight right now. Everything was too overwhelming and he could hardly breathe.

"You're speechless," Michael said robotically. "SQUIP got your tongue? Or something else? Because you're still crying."

Jeremy instinctively roughly brushed away the tears still slipping down his cheeks with the palms of his hands, but it was no use as fresh saltwater went to replace them.

Michael sighed and offered Jeremy a hand to stand up. Jeremy took it, but swayed a bit when he stood, Michael half-holding him up and Michael looking at him inquisitively because after everything, this wasn't like Regular Jeremy or Jeremy 2.0. This was... somewhere between. Or on some whole other spectrum of Jeremy.

"The SQUIP... it isn't talking to me right now."

"Hm. Would explain why _you're_ talking to _me_ ," Michael pointed out, letting go of Jeremy's arm and stepping back and crossing his arms.

"I've been thinking about this moment, you know. What I was gonna say to you. I had this... this really pissed off monologue. An epic journey through twelve years of friendship."

 _Friendship_. Jeremy felt a small smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Michael noticed.

"What?"

"No, it's just... It's... it's really great to see you, man," Jeremy said, genuinely. He was so relived he could see someone... someone who cared. Yeah, the SQUIP cared too. But so did Michael. He needed more than one person who cared about him.

"Yeah, well, it won't be," Michael said, looking away and glaring at the ground. "Once you hear what I found out."

"Found out? About...?"

Michael tapped the side of his head and Jeremy instantly understood.

"How? There's nothing on the Internet."

"Which is weird, right?" Michael snapped. "I mean, what's not on the Internet? So I started asking around. Finally, this guy I play Warcraft with told me his brother went from a straight D student to a freshman at Harvard. You know where he is now?

"Really happy and successful?"

"He's in a mental hospital."

Jeremy felt a chill go down his spine, the ghost of a shockwave. He steeled himself for the Squip's crisp voice telling him what to do-

But for now, he was leaving him alone.

"Totally lost it," Michael said.

"Alright, well, I don't see what that has to do with my-"

"Think, man!" Michael cried, cutting him off. "We're talking an insanely powerful supercomputer! You think it's primary function is to get you laid?"

The dam that had been built up around his eyes, letting his face dry, totally caved as he could see Chloe again in the dark, touching him, her hands on his thighs, her lips on his, her hips resting on his stomach-

Michael didn't care. Michael didn't stop.

"Who made them? How did they end up in a high school? In New Jersey?! For all the possible applicants for such a... a mind blowingly advanced piece of technology... you ever wonder what it's doing inside you?"

Jeremy couldn't help it.

"Pfft. Oh, really?"

"Yeah?"

"I think... I think you're just pissed, that I have one and you don't."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Come on," he groaned.

"And maybe I got lucky, alright? Is that so weird? I mean, I'd say with my history, the universe owed me one. And look, I don't know about your friend's... brother's... whatever, man, if you're telling me his Squip made him crazy-"

"The SQUIP didn't make him crazy," Michael cut him off.

"Alright then, there you-"

"He went crazy trying to get it out!"

They stared stonily at each other for a good minute.

"Well, then, I've got nothing to worry about," Jeremy said finally, breaking the steel-hard silence. "Why would I want that?"

Look what it did to you. Look what it let her do to you. You want it out. This isn’t you. What happened with her is inexcusable. Get it out. Get it out. Get it out. Get it out.

He didn’t care. He blocked out that voice like he blocked out Michael’s, without remorse or hesitation.

This is what you need.

He walked back to the door, but Michael was quicker, standing in front of it and crossing his arms.

"C'mon, man, move it."

Michael chuckled shortly. Bitterly. "Or you'll what?”

Jeremy clenched his teeth. "Get out of my way. Loser."

Michael looked... shocked. Betrayed. Furious.

But he opened the door and stepped out, slamming it behind him.

"Jeremy, you performed excellently without my help," the Squip said, reapearring in front of him. "You're making significant progress. Now, let's go back out into the party-"

"No. Shut up."

Jeremy's world caved around him as he realised what he just did.

He just called his best friend- his favourite person- the only one who'd always been there for him... he just called him a loser.

Loser. Loser.

The word seemed to echo around him as he collapsed to the floor, fully crying again.

"What have I done?"

This is what you wanted. This is what you need.

"You have done what was right, Jerem-"

 

"I said, shut the fuck up," Jeremy snapped. His eyes searched around the room. Something, anything-

 

There, right there, on the counter, a cooler with cans of Bud Lite floating in semi-melted ice.

 

"Jeremy, you don't want to drink tha-"

 

Jeremy lunged for a can, popping it open as he drew it back to his chest and tipped his head back as he took a large, messy swig.

 

It didn't taste good, and it burned as it went down, but his hypothesis was right, because the Squip started malfunctioning almost instantly, jabbering on in Japanese until it disappeared in blue sparks.

 

Good. Stay away.

 

He was tempted to try and follow Michael and tell him he was sorry, he wanted it out, please don't abandon him- but he deserved this.

 

He abandoned Michael, and for what? Popularity? To be raped?

He wasn't sure if he wanted it anymore. He wished that maybe, maybe, everything would go back to normal.

 

But you can't do that. Can't reverse what's already been done. And it sucks, but that's life.

 

And, well, Jeremy had royally messed up life so far.

 

This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault.

 

He slowly finished off the Bud Lite, ignoring the knocks at the door and the jiggling of the doorknob getting more and more incessant, more and more frantic, but didn't reach for another.

 

He stopped crying after awhile, but stayed there on the cold linoleum, rocking back and forth, knees at his forehead, arms wrapped around his legs, listening to the party still going strong in the background.

 

In fact, he'd nearly fallen asleep when a shout cut through everything else: "Fire!"

 

Now, the music was still pumping hard, but instead of laughter and general party sounds, it was screams behind Mariah Carey's Emotions.

 

Her high notes kinda suited the whole situation, in a creepy way.

 

At first, he was going to go out immediately, but then he decided against it; wait until the rush was over and he'd get out easier, like at the movies. And he kept on waiting.

 

By the time he decided to finally leave, his hands felt the door just to be sure it was safe, and-

 

It was hot, burning hot.

 

He was trapped.

 

There were no windows in the bathroom. No other doors. No closets. Nothing.

 

His instincts said to panic, but he stopped trusting his instincts awhile ago. Oddly enough, when he ignored the panic long enough, he was calm and just sat down in the bathtub (after removing Michael's body bag with beer cans atrocity) and accepted his fate.

 

He deserved it, after all.

 

This is what you get. You deserve this, you deserve all of this.

 

You’ve always deserved to die.

 

He watched the flames eat up the door and the beers and the tile and the linoleum and when he'd finally passed out from smoke inhalation, all he saw was hot blue and red flames, dancing tauntingly as they edged closer, closer-

 

Then nothing. Nothing but a voice.

 

Your fault.

 

 

-

 

Michael was having his usual grapefruit half for breakfast when his Nanay came downstairs, looking concerned, and rushed to envelope Michael in an awkward hug.

 

"Um... Nanay? What's... what's going on?" He asked.

 

"Oh, you don't know?" His Nanay asked, pulling away suddenly.

 

"What's wrong? What happened?"

 

"Oh, Michael. The party you went to, at Jake Dillinger's house? There was a fire. The whole thing burned down, and there aren't any reported casualties yet, but..."

 

"You thought I might've died?"

 

"Exactly. How's Jeremy, by the way? Was he there? He hasn't come over in awhile."

 

Michael shook his head.

 

"I don't think he and I are friends anymore, Nanay."

 

"No? What happened?"

 

-

 

Michael didn't quite remember when he found out, but just two days after the party, Jeremiah N. Heere had been reported missing.

 

He didn't know what to feel.

 

His mom and Nanay insisted he bring the food his mom had cooked for Mr. Heere over, despite everything, and he did.

 

Mr. Heere was more of a wreck than usual, with the exception of the fact that he was wearing pants. Khakis.

 

He greeted Michael, accepted the food, smiled and thanked him, bade him goodbye, and shut the door. It seemed practiced. Probably he'd had to perform it over and over again for neighbours, coworkers.

That was okay, though. Michael didn’t care.

 

He just ignored the fact that Jeremy had ever even been there and he just went on with life.

 

He didn't want to think about him.

 

What was the point?

 

So he didn't.

 

For months.

 

-

 

When Christine heard about Jeremy's disappearance, she was utterly distraught. Jeremy was a good friend to her, and now? Nobody knew where he was.

Mr. Reyes quietly replaced Jeremy with Troy Selwater, and the play went well.

 

But it wasn't quite the same.

 

Jeremy had actually been pretty good at acting, but Troy? Not so much. He did make apple pie for the entire cast on closing night, so that was nice. The pie was really good.

 

Still.

 

Christine didn't know when she thought of going to where Jake's house once stood, but she found herself sneaking out one night in April, grabbing her denim jacket as an afterthought, and rode her bike to 5260 Maplewood Lane.

 

Once she locked her bike to a tree, she turned on the flashlight on her phone and carefully proceeded to what was left of Jake's house.

 

She'd seen it in the daylight, she knew exactly what there was.

 

A plastic blue tarp, faded from months of rain, snow, and sun, stretched over part of the mostly intact basement. A few stray bricks.

 

Stone stairs down to the basement from where a door once was on the first level of the home.

 

That was all there was left.

 

Christine tentatively sat on the top step and stared down into the black nothingness. According to the cleanup crew, the steps were still technically safe, but even if they weren't... she needed this moment. To make peace with herself.

 

So she turned her flashlight off and just stared, and after a bit, shrugged on her jacket. There was a strange chill in the air. Like the rush of air from a candle after it'd been blown out.

 

She stared for so long that for awhile, she didn't notice the strange filmy white object in the corner of her eye.

 

When she did, she gasped.

 

The object stayed put, casting an eerie glow on the cement around it.

She set her phone down on the grass and slowly, carefully, picked her way down the stairs. And once she was down, she slowly approached the object, each step planned and quiet, as to not scare... whatever it was... away from her.

 

About three feet away, Christine noticed features beginning to form. Not just a strange light anymore, now she could faintly see things like hair, feet, long legs, a slightly slouched posture-

 

Two pale blue eyes, staring directly at her.

 

Christine eeped a cry and stumbled backwards. The filmy object seemed to move back a bit, too, and it's features disappeared until she stepped forward again, and the object came closer, closer-

 

"Christine?"

 

It was weak, it was like a faint whisper in the dark, a wavering candle in a cold breeze, but suddenly, all Christine could see was white, and then-

 

The object shifted, and she could see her former classmate. Shrouded in a veil of filmy white, but him all the same.

 

"Jeremy?" Her voice was strong, unwavering... but scared. That this was some messed-up prank. That she was hallucinating. That he wasn't really there.

 

Those fears were alleviated when she felt Jeremy slowly, tentatively wrapping his arms around her, and Christine quickly did the same, surprised at how her arms didn't go right through him.

 

It wasn't cold, like people said touching a ghost was like, it was warm, cozy, and she could almost feel Jeremy's body heat on hers.

 

He pulled away first, and gave her a lopsided smile. "Make yourself at home! I don't really hang out here often, but..."

 

"Tonight was special," Christine finished, and Jeremy nodded his head in agreement.

 

"So... if you don't mind me asking... you did die in the fire?"

 

For a moment, he looked uncomfortable, but it slipped off his features as he nodded.

 

"Where do you hang out usually?"

 

"Okay, if we're going to have Oujia Board time, you probably wanna sit down," Jeremy said, motioning to an oddly not-burned chair cushion on the floor, just a couple feet away. "That's where all my interrogators sit."

 

Christine tentatively sat down, taking off her jacket and tying it around her waist. "Where'd you get this? It doesn't look like something Jake would've had."

 

"I took it from a yard sale, as they were packing up. It was being put in a box labelled 'dumpster,' so I think I did them a favour. I've never actually had anyone come in here after the cleanup team left, though."

 

Christine nodded. "Okay, so back to the original question."

 

"Where I usually hang out? The 7/11 near the highway. Turns out that slushies as a ghost are so much better than when you're alive."

 

"Have you ever gone in your house?"

 

"My house? No."

 

"Have you ever talked to anyone besides me?"

 

"Yeah. Me and the girl who takes most of the night shifts at 7/11 talk occasionally. She told me I could have free slushies for as long as she works there, so that's cool. We don't really have a relationship outside of slushies and exchanging stories, though. I'm just the ghost at work who reminds her of her mortality."

 

Christine giggled. "So, that's it, then? Haven't you been bored these past few months?"

 

"Little bit. But sometimes, I like to go back to the high school, after dark. Relive some memories. And also, sometimes, I like giving people a scare late at night at Brekker Park. That's always fun."

 

"So then, I'm the only one who knows you're a ghost?"

 

"Yup. Except for the girl at 7/11."

 

"You haven't talked to anyone else besides me and her, then? Not Michael, not your dad, Brooke, Chloe, Rich, Jake, Jenna, someone, anyone?"

 

"Did you become friends with all of them? Some of them?”

 

"That's an off-topic question, but Jake and I decided to just be friends, and I've become friends with Chloe, Rich, and Rich in the process. Apparently, Rich had this supercomputer thing called a SQUIP in his brain, but Michael took some nineties soda or something to him in the hospital, and it deactivated. Rich is a heck of a lot cooler without it."

 

"Okay, Chris Christie. But then, are you all friends with Michael?"

 

Christine laughed. "No, he kinda keeps to himself. We've all reached out to him at one point or another, though."

 

"But, he's okay?"

 

"Yeah, I guess."

 

"What about everyone else? Brooke, Jenna, Jake, Rich... Chloe..."

 

"Jenna, Chloe, and Brooke fixed the problems they had, Jake and Rich are even closer, and suddenly I'm there, too! And... I kinda have a crush on Brooke.."

 

Jeremy laughed. "I'd go for it. Brooke's really sweet."

 

-

 

At lunch the next day, Christine told everyone about her late-night conversation with Jeremy.

 

Chloe... actually looked a little scared, Brooke and Jenna were intrigued, though Brooke looked somewhat bitter as well, and Jake was a little creeped out.

 

"Why'd he choose my house to hang out?" He asked indignantly, swirling a french fry in ketchup before popping it in his mouth.

 

Rich was feeling understandably guilty, himself.

 

"I killed someone! I actually killed someone," he cried, burying his face in his hands. He probably felt sick to his stomach and scared out of his mind.

 

"Rich, it's okay," Jake said.

 

"No, it isn't. Don't you see? I fucking killed someone. It's my fault."

 

People began to stare, and Christine felt her skin crawl. She wrapped her jacket tighter around her arms.

 

"It was because of the SQUIP. It made you do it," Brooke said.

 

"No, it fucking didn't. It was begging me to stop as I got the gasoline. I did it because I thought death was the only way to get rid of it!" He cried.

 

Everyone at the table was stunned silent for a moment.

 

"Rich..." Christine began.

 

"No. Leave me alone," Rich said, grabbing his backpack and bolting away.

 

Christine ran after Rich, out the cafeteria, down the hall, and into the janitor's closet. A prime spot for couples to make out and/or have sex, especially during lunch hours, but luckily, it was empty.

 

Christine, being short, was able to slip inside just as he shut the door, and stayed silent, studying Rich.

 

He didn't seem to notice her at first, sitting down roughly on the dirty ground, his back to her, hugging his knees to his forehead, breathing heavily. That's when Christine gently placed a hand on Rich's shoulder.

 

Of course, Rich jumped a mile, and didn't relax much when he saw it was only Christine. "I... go away, Christine."

 

"No, Rich, listen to me," Christine said frantically, pulling Rich into a hug. "I swear to you, if we were to go and visit him right now - which wouldn't be the best idea, because I don't think we can see him unless it’s nighttime and also, school - but if we went and saw him, I swear on my life, my role as Sibella in the spring musical, and everything I own, that he wouldn't be mad. Or sad. Or hold any kind of grudge. Not one bit mad, Rich. Not one bit."

 

"I still literally killed someone, Christine! That's murder."

 

"I know. But guess what? I'm not angry at you. No, not at all. You were... it was understandable, what you were trying to do. Jake forgave you a long time ago, Brooke got a couple bad burns too, you know she forgave you, even I got in the mess of fire, but we all still made it out okay. And-" she saw Rich beginning to protest and spoke quicker, raising her voice slightly, "Yeah, Jeremy didn't make it out okay, apparently.

 

But guess what? You were tying to get free of what, if I'm understanding what you've told us correctly, was abuse. Emotional and physical. Electroshock therapy. Constant emotional beatdown. Rich, that's abuse. And you were desperate to get free. And I can understand why you did it. Jake can, too, I know he will, if he doesn't already. And Brooke. And Jeremy. And me."

 

"Just..." Rich trailed off, then looked her straight in the eyes in the dim lighting. "It was still unforgivable."

 

"Tell that to Jeremy. Tell that to me, who has already forgiven you."

 

Rich sighed and looked away. "I... can we go..."

 

"See him?"

 

"Yes. Tonight?"

 

"Sure. Where do you live?"

 

"1340 Klickitat Street. Two blocks from Maplewood."

 

Christine nodded. "I live on Hearth Avenue, but I can come down and walk with you. Or bike. I mean, I know you know the way to Jake's old house, but..."

 

"It's been so long. I've probably forgotten. You always remember things."

 

Christine nodded. "Okay. I'll come by around... eleven o clock. Does that work?"

 

Rich grimaced. "No, my dad doesn't pass out until one..."

 

"Alright then, one, no, one-fifteen it is. With daylight savings time and all, that probably works out better, with the darkness and all that," Christine said cheerfully. "I don't have a car, but I'll come down on my bike or something. Or maybe I'll bring my little sister’s wagon and attach it to my bike, like a trailer. That ought to be interesting."

 

Rich seemed to be suppressing a smile, but it was hard to tell when the only light in the room came from the cracks under the doors, since they hadn't turned on the overhead bulb. "Maybe not, with the wagon."

 

"Yeah, maybe not. You ready to get back out there? I think there's only a couple minutes left before class."

 

"I think... let's go."

 

Christine stood, and extended a hand to help Rich up, which he gratefully took. He was over a hundred pounds of muscle, and Christine was tiny, but she was much stronger than she looked, and it had been demonstrated several times over the past few months.

 

Together, they walked out of the closet and went straight to their next classes.

 

-

 

That night went like any other for Rich. Homework, evading his drunken dad, hide in his room, sneak some sort of food up there, and repeat.

 

For Christine, she ate a snack with her little sister, Lana, while talking to her mom about her school day (leaving out the whole ghost thing, and the Rich thing, of course) and then homework, at-home vocal practice, dinner, more homework, some homemade cherry pie for dessert, and then a little more homework, before her clock read 12:42 and she grabbed her jacket, snuck out of the house, went by 7/11 for two coffees (very low caffeine in hers, almost decaf, she didn't want to be bouncing off the walls) for her and Rich, and a blue slushie for Jeremy.

 

The cashier had a blonde ponytail and bags under her eyes, and rang Christine up quickly, and was about to return to the back room when Christine suddenly asked, "Hey, are you the one who knows Jeremy?"

 

The cashier turned around and

stared at her for awhile with an unreadable expression.

 

Then, "No, Vickie was sick today, she'll come back tomorrow. I'm her sister."

 

"Oh, gotcha."

 

"So you're taking that stuff to the ghost?"

 

"Well, the slushie is for him. The coffees are for me and my other friend. Speaking of other friends," Christine looked down at her watch. 12:58. "I'd better get moving. Thanks."

 

"Have a great day," the cashier said robotically, and while normally, Christine would've immediately started wondering if she was a robot or something, or if the phrase had been brainwashed and/or programmed into her, but she instead ran quickly down a few blocks, up to Klickitat Street, and finally pulling to a screeching halt in front of Rich's house.

 

Or so she thought.

 

She'd forgotten the number, or rather, a single digit.

 

Rich lived at 1340, but she'd remembered 1349, so it was awkward when she saw no lights on and knocked, finding an old lady with her hair up in rollers, wearing the most old-ladyish bathrobe possible, answering the door.

 

She left quickly. She knew Rich didn't have a mom.

 

She walked up and down the street, several times, until finally finding Rich sitting on his porch step, looking ready to get up and walk to Jake's old house himself.

 

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," Rich said, getting up.

 

"No, I couldn't find your house," Christine said, handing him his coffee. "I thought it was 1349?"

 

"No, it's 1340. Thanks for the coffee."

 

"Ah, that's right. No problem."

 

They walked down the street in relative silence, sipping their coffees, the only speaking occurring when Christine said they needed to turn on Haven Road, and then when Christine had gotten confused at an intersection and Rich had directed her onto Maplewood Lane.

 

Finally, though, they arrived at Jake's house, or well, the basement that was left of it.

 

Rich sucked in a breath and looked panicky.

 

Christine immediately gave him a quick hug and a reassuring smile, before leading him to the steps and immediately heading down ahead of him.

 

"Um... are these... are you sure this is safe?"

 

"The cleanup crew sure seemed to think so. And I did it last night, it's fine. C'mon, Richie."

 

So, slowly, tentatively, Rich made his way down, behind the bounding and excited Christine, who, when she reached the bottom, immediately headed for this strange, filmy white... light? Patch of air? And threw her arms around it.

 

The very fact that her arms didn't go through was enough for Rich to quicken his pace and practically sprint over to Christine's side.

Christine turned her head and smiled at him. "See, Rich, it's Jeremy!"

 

Rich felt his blood run cold as he saw a head turn towards him, this one not Christine's. Blue-green eyes, curly brown hair, paler skin than usual.

 

"...Jeremy?"

 

Jeremy smiled. "Hey, Rich. How's it going?"

 

So casual. As if he wasn't literally dead.

 

"What in the... Jeremy..."

Jeremy smiled, a little sadly. "It's okay, Rich. I don't mind much. Slushies are great as a ghost. You should really try it, when you die. Don't get any ideas, though."

 

"Oh! I nearly forgot!" Christine cried, leaping away from Jeremy and hurrying up the steps, to the grass where she'd left the coffees and slushies, then running back down the stone stairs bravely, brandishing the slushie to Jeremy with a giant smile.

 

"You..." Jeremy smiled widely, and took the slushie with a long, arm, that, Rich realised, still wore his Halloween costume. Ah yes, guilt, nice to see you again.

 

"Christine, thank you so much!" Jeremy said.

 

"No problem," Christine said, also smiling. "So, um, Jeremy, I guess you know why we came here, or well, why I brought Rich. You did just say you didn't mind that much, but I find that you have to reinforce it with Richie."

 

"I'm right here, you know," Rich piped up.

 

Jeremy floated over to Rich, sipping his slushie, before placing a hand on Rich's shoulder. "Rich, I really don't mind. I'm not holding any grudges against you. Plus, it got my SQUIP shut off, so there's that. But seriously. It's fine. Don't sweat it, bro."

 

"Jeremy, I literally killed you, though."

 

"Yeah? And I know that. But I really, truly, don't mind that much. Honestly, I should be thanking you, because that SQUIP... I don't know if, or how, I ever would've gotten it out."

 

"Yeah, when I set the fire, I kinda had the same thought. Death would get it out."

 

"Wait... Rich... you..?"

 

"Yeah. That was a suicide attempt. A stupid one, all things considered. Especially since I killed you."

 

"Rich..."

 

"And you know what? Even if you forgive me for literally ending your life, you shouldn't forgive me for all the bullying, for even telling you about the SQUIPs. Because lord only knows what yours did to you."

 

"Yeah? Maybe you screwed up a lot, Rich. Maybe you've done some stupid crap. But guess what? I wanna start new. Can't we do that, Rich? Because everyone deserves to be forgiven."

 

Rich looked at Jeremy, dumbfounded, gawking and wide-eyed.

 

"Jeremy.."

 

"Let's just start over, okay?"

 

"...Fine."

 

"Good. Okay. So how's the day been treating you?"

 

“...”

 

-

 

After Rich and Jeremy had talked well into the night, he came to school wide-eyed and full of light, despite an obvious lack of sleep. A strange, excited, light, it was. He was... different during lunch. I mean, his general way of speak was the same... but he was dorkier. More open. Participating in conversations more.

 

So it was no surprise that Brooke stopped Christine in the hall, on the way to lunch. "Hey, Chris, can you take me there tonight?"

 

Christine turned, and nodded, a big smile on her face. "He'll be really happy to see you!"

 

"...Yeah," Brooke trailed off, and then Christine remembered. Jeremy had had sex with Chloe, therby cheating on Brooke, on Halloween night, at that stupid party.

 

"Sorry. But, it'll be okay. He'll explain himself."

 

"He'd better," Brooke said, with an icy glare at a guy in a number jacket, checking her out as he passed, who quickly skittered away.

 

So that night, Brooke turned up at Christine's house for a change, in her mom's rinky-dink, very old SUV, that clattered and shook as she drove. But it worked, because they got to 5260 Maplewood Lane without dying.

 

Brooke parallel parked and hopped out quickly, racing across the lawn, over to the steps, Christine close behind. It wasn't because she was excited to see Jeremy, but she was nervous, and adrenaline was high.

 

She was also a bit angry, obviously.

Christine raced after her down the steps, down where Brooke was looking around the empty basement frantically.

 

Sure enough, there was a filmy white patch of air, and it moved towards them. Brooke turned pale and grabbed Christine's hand, pressing her back against the wall.

 

Which of course, was unfair,

because now Christine couldn't focus on Jeremy, because now she was the literal embodiment of a heart-eyes emoji. She was... she was holding her hand!! She was holding her hand!

 

And Jeremy noticed as his form materialised, but he didn't comment on it, simply winking at her.

 

"Good grief, Christine, are you the ghost tour guide now? Um... hi, Brooke."

 

"I guess so," Christine said quietly.

 

Brooke slowly walked towards Jeremy, tentatively touching his arm and gasping, backing away a bit, when her hand didn't go through.

"You're... you're really a ghost, huh?"

 

"Yeah. A solid one, I guess. Look, Brooke... just let me explain-"

 

Brooke cut him off by slapping him in the face. Hard. Definitely not what you'd expect from such a tiny, cute, unassuming teen girl.

 

And the fact that it actually landed on Jeremy’s face and caused pain... that was an entire other thing.

 

"I... I probably deserved that."

 

"You're right, you did. Now explain yourself, Heere. This had better be good."

 

Jeremy sighed. “Look, Brooke... I’ll bet this has been said to you a million times. But I didn’t... I didn’t... I didn’t cheat on you. Or, actually, yeah, maybe I did-“ he added quickly, cutting Brooke’s words off and leaving them in her mouth, “But I... Chloe was jealous. She wanted to... she made me have sex with her.”

 

“She... she did... she...” Brooke trailed off and stared at Jeremy with an unreadable expression.

 

Christine, too, stared, and rightfully so. Jeremy had never said anything about that to her, and it was... jarring. After a moment, she realised Jeremy’s pained expression and quickly wrapped her arms around his semi-transparent form.

 

Brooke hesitated, but ultimately followed suit, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight.

 

When his expression was one of some meek comfort from Christine’shug (no offence to her, of course) it was of surprise, and then full comfort when Brooke followed.

 

After a bit, the girls pulled away, and they all sat down on the cushions, Brooke playing with a lock of hair with a guilty expression.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy, I didn’t-“

 

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” Jeremy said fiercely. “Don’t. You. Dare. If I hadn’t had the SQUIP,none of this ever would’ve happened.”

 

“But it was Chloe’s fault. All Chloe’s fault, then. God, I never should’ve let her anywhere near you.”

 

“It wasn’t... it wasn’t entirely her fault. She was drunk. I’m not excusing her actions, but... the SQUIP made me do it, too. Made me say yes. Held me down so I couldn’t move.”

 

He began to shake, and Christine grabbed his hand comfortingly.

 

Brooke simply cast a long, unreadable look at him, before-

 

Before breaking down into tears.

 

“All this time! All this time when I heartlessly blamed you, all this time when I was like Michael and refused to even talk about you most of the time, and I find out this.”

 

“Brooke-“

 

“Don’t tell me I’ve got it all wrong!” she shrieked, glaring at him with murder in her eyes before collapsing onto her knees and quietly crying into her palms.

 

“It’s my fault too,” she said quietly. “My fault too.”

 

Christine’s default mode of comfort was usually to hug, and boy, did she have plenty of hugs for Brooke. But she hesitated, afraid that Brooke might snap at her if she tried.

 

Eventually though, Brooke seemed to be trying to calm herself down, and Christine took the opportunity, hugging her tightly.

 

Brooke stiffened, but hugged her back slowly.

 

-

 

Christine continued to shuttle people back and forth to see Jeremy, but the one person who never went (besides Chloe, who wasn’t very talkative or willing to be social with ghosts lately because Brooke was giving her the silent treatment and wouldn’t tell her why) was Michael.

 

Michael, that weird kid who continually refused to join their group. Which, I mean, was probably based on the fact that it was 95% popular kids, including someone who used to bully him and Jeremy. Still.

 

He also wouldn’t talk about Jeremy, even to Christine. Flat-out, when Christine had once asked (before she’d discovered his ghost) he’d snapped at her.

 

“Christine, you’re a nice girl and all, but I don’t want to fucking talk about it. Period. Stop asking me to talk about him, and stop asking me why I won’t.” And then, he’d pulled his headphones up onto his ears, his hood over his head, and stalked off.

 

Chloe, who’d been doing her makeup in her locker mirror nearby and secretly eavesdropping, approached Christine and squeezed her shoulder, ignoring her jump of surprise.

 

“He’s a jerk, I know. Oh well,” Chloe had said.

 

Christine had stayed silent.

 

And she’d stayed silent to Michael ever since, but now... Jeremy was here again. He’d care now.

 

So finally, she approached him on her way to lunch, taking out an earbud of her own and tapping him on the shoulder.

 

He turned around and exhaled heavily, blowing out his top lip a bit. But after some hesitation, he took his headphones off.

 

“What do you want, Christine?”

 

“I have to tell you something important.”

 

“Is it about Jeremy?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s all I need to hear, then,” he said shortly, beginning to turn away.

 

Christine grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around to face her, nearly knocking to the ground the headphones that’d been halfway to his ears.

 

“He’s a ghost, Michael.”

 

People began to stare, and Christine wanted to hide. She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks.

 

Michael was included in the people staring.

 

And Christine was done with this bullshit now. Shaking off her blush, she stood tall and looked up at Michael with a fire in her eyes.

 

“Jeremy was your best friend. He’s dead, and you pretend not to care. You bury your feelings in your spine and slouch. You don’t want to face him, for some reason.”

 

“When Jeremy died, he wasn’t my best friend!” Michael shouted suddenly, making Christine jump.

 

“He had the SQUIP. He didn’t want me anymore. I was deadweight now that he was cool. He abandoned me. And that’s why I won’t join your group of so called ‘cured’ popular people. They’re still made of plastic and foundation, and you refuse to see that. You refuse to see that that’s who Jeremy had become by the time he died.”

 

“Jeremy the ghost doesn’t have the SQUIP anymore. He knows what he did was wrong. He’s apologised to everyone he could. You saw what he did to Brooke, and he apologised wholeheartedly. They’re friends now. He told me that he only got it because he had a crush on me! And guess what? He apologised. And he can’t apologise to you if you refuse to face him.”

 

Michael didn’t say anything more. He wore an unreadable expression and he looked at the floor for a long time. Finally, he simply asked, “Where is he?”

 

“Jake’s old house. 5260 Maplewood Lane.”

 

Michael said nothing more, and after a moment, they wordlessly parted, heading in different directions to the same place.

 

-

 

Michael didn’t instantly drop everything and head to the burned hollow of a house.

 

He tried to forget about all of it. Everything that Christine had said, the address, popular people, Jeremy.

 

But her words echoed in endless repeat. He kept unwillingly pushing the rewind button on the VCR and replaying everything. Broken lines of speech wove into music, becoming one with whatever 70s or 80s music he was blasting on repeat, but at the same time totally apart and different.

 

He couldn’t eject the tape and he couldn’t pull out the film.

 

He wrote down the address and burned it, and yet, he could still make out every digit, every letter painstaking written in glitter pen.

 

He sighed in defeat and began to walk.

 

-

 

Arriving at the address, Michael buried whatever memories of the place he had as soon as they bubbled up.

 

But he walked down these steps, ignoring the ghosts of a party, people walking up and down the stairs with solo cups in hand, laughing and talking and making out where there once was a couch.

 

There was only one ghost he actually focused on.

 

And something about it didn’t sit right with Jeremy’s ghost, how solid it was, how clear his features were, how he could talk clearly. Something wasn’t right here, clearly.

 

“Michael?” Jeremy asked tentatively, floating towards him.

 

“You’re not dead,” Michael said, stepping back.

 

“Wh- Michael, what do you-“

 

“You’re not dead,” Michael repeated.

 

“I feel dead.”

 

“You’re not dead. You have to be alive somewhere. This isn’t a ghost.”

 

“Michael... look, I’m sorry for what I did to you. I was a jerk, and I-“

 

“This isn’t the time, Jeremy. You have to be somewhere. Do you know where your body is?”

 

“...No?”

 

“Exactly. It would’ve been found if you were dead. Or... maybe you’re in the hospital somewhere.”

 

“Michael, I don’t understand.”

 

“You’re not dead!” Michael shouted, stilling the cool breeze and stopping the flow of oxygen to the room.

 

“I’m dead. I learned to accept that awhile ago.”

 

“You aren’t.”

 

“I don’t understand then, why you came, if you’re so convinced I’m not dead.”

 

“Ghosts don’t look like you look. Ghosts are never this solid, this clear.”

 

“Have you ever been a ghost?”

 

“Look, it’s my gut, dude.”

 

“Michael, listen to me-“ Jeremy reached out to grab Michael’s shoulders, but his hands brushed with Michael’s headphones and they were sucked in.

 

They both stared, afraid to move much other than their eyes, trying to blink this away. It must be a trick of the light, surely.

 

But nothing changed, and suddenly, Jeremy’s eyes clicked with realisation, just before Michael did the same

 

“It’s a talisman,” they said in unison.

 

“We could transport you in here. And help find your body.”

 

“Michael, I swear-“

 

“I’m not going to say it again, Jeremy. You’re not dead. We need to find Jenna.”

 

-

 

“Michael?” Jenna asked in surprise, watching as Michael strode in determinedly, and she defeatedly shut the front door.“It’s 4:42 AM, this had better be good.”

 

“Look, I might not particularly trust your friends, but besides Christine you’re the most human. I need your help.”

 

“I... Michael. Explain to me, calmly, what you need. I can’t follow.”

 

Michael took a deep breath. “You’ve been to see Jeremy’s ghost, right?”

 

“I... yeah?”

 

“He’s not dead.”

 

“Michael, if you actually think he’s alive-“

 

“I’m not in denial, Jenna. Jeremy breaks every rule of being a ghost.”

 

“Have you ever been a ghost?”

 

Jeremy chose that moment to push himself out of the headphones, emerging unscathed and in the same state he hung around Jake’s house in. Jenna seemed unfazed for the most part.

 

“I told him that too. But he’s convinced I’m alive, and he wants to see if you can find any hospitals with unidentified people, probably in comas, in the area.”

 

Jenna sighed and resignedly pulled her loose, curly purple hair back into a ponytail that had been on her wrist. “I’ll do it, but I’m making coffee first.”

 

So fifteen minutes later, equipped with black coffee, Jeremy with his own mug and Michael electing to just take a shot of 5 Hour Energy, Jenna sat down at her desk and began to search.

 

“You guys can pull over bean bag chairs or something, you don’t have to just stand there breathing down my neck,” Jenna said, her eyes never leaving the screen as her fingers danced across her keyboard.

 

Michael dragged over a bean bag chair, but Jeremy elected to keep floating, since he didn’t breathe and therefore couldn’t breathe down her neck.

 

He took his first sip of coffee and instantly felt funny. He was never a big coffee drinker when he was alive, and as a ghost, he didn’t really sleep. But Jenna had offered, and they were barging into her house at 5 in the morning, so it would be rude to refuse.

 

He took another sip, and suddenly, he saw something.

 

A white room, a thin, freckled arm with an IV attached to it, and then everything was moving. He passed a bulletin board, and rooms full of people, then it faded.

 

Michael and Jenna were both staring at him.

 

“You were glowing. Like, more than usual. All greenish,” Jenna said.

 

“I saw something. When I drank the coffee.”

 

“What’d you see?” Michael hastily asked.

 

“An arm. It might’ve been mine. I think it was in a hospital, it wasn’t very clear, but everything was white. Then it moved, and I was moving down... a hall?”

 

“Any identifying information? A poster, specific people?” Jenna probed.

 

“There was a bulletin board, but it was all blurry.”

 

“Drink more coffee.”

 

He did. He gulped down the whole glass in two swallows. He needed to know what this was.

 

He’d barely finished it when it kicked in again. It was a hall they were moving down, there were nurses and doctors bustling around, and he managed a glance at the bulletin board before they moved past.

 

“Renee Yolanda Walker,” he announced when he faded back to Jenna’s dimly lit bedroom.

 

Jenna had her fingers moving before Jeremy had finished, and google brought up a picture of a bunch of people in purple t-shirts crowded around one of those giant checks.

 

“The Renee Yolanda Walker Foundation. They hold charity dinners and events to benefit children with leukemia in Newark! Was there a poster on the bulletin board?

 

“Yeah. It was purple, and had the picture of a little girl on it. I think it was advertising a dinner but the name was most clear.”

 

“Well, then, maybe you’re accessing memories that your split soul has,” Jenna said matter-of-factly.

 

Michael and Jeremy stared.

 

“Michael, you’re right. Jeremy isn’t dead. His soul is split. He almost died, and his soul began to split off from his body. Souls in their whole form head to whatever afterlife there is, but if the soul is fractured in any way by the body delaying death when it’s trying to split off, the soul becomes a ghost. It seems most of Jeremy’s soul split off, but something stopped him from dying, most likely EMTs finding him and keeping him alive.

 

The soul will stay wherever there’s more of it, and there’s more soul outside of his body, so he’s a ghost. But there’s so much soul, more than most ghosts have, and that’s why he’s so solid and real.”

 

“How do you know all that?” Jeremy asked.

 

Suddenly, there was a little girl next to Jeremy. A little girl, who seemed mostly solid, but... she was a ghost. The glow of her skin and her float gave it away.

 

The girl giggled at Jeremy’s surprise and flew around the room happily a few times before landing next to Jenna.

 

“This is my sister, Mackenzie. She died when she was six, but her soul was deeply fractured when she was put on life support, and one part of her soul never made it out of her body. She has the vast majority of her soul, and that’s why she’s such a solid ghost. And she died with multiple other people, in a huge car accident. One of them had studied ghosts while alive and, once a ghost, unlocked a fair bit of knowledge, and shared with the rest of the victims that became ghosts.”

 

Now that Jeremy really studied her, Mackenzie looked a lot like Jenna. They had the same face shape, the same eyes, and even though Mackenzie was a seven year old, not a seventeen year old, there was a clear resemblance.

 

The really haunting thing about Mackenzie, was the bright red patch at her left temple. Clearly she had been struck on the head with something in the car accident. She also had cuts and bruises all over her arms and legs, and her puffy ponytails had broken, brightly coloured plastic butterflies at each end. The dirty and torn Disney Princess shirt and her lack of a right shoe were just finishing touches on her eerie person.

 

Jeremy had died in a fire. You’d expect him to have a fair amount of burns, but he really didn’t have many. He was pretty sure his robot onesie had semi flame resistant fabric, so he’d always figured he’d died from smoke inhalation rather than the fire itself.

 

Mackenzie noticed Jeremy staring and smiled, revealing her missing front tooth. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.”

 

Jeremy nodded, somewhat absently.

 

“How’d you die?”

 

“Mackenzie,” Jenna began, but Jeremy shook his head and crouched down to Mackenzie’s level.

 

“I died in a fire at a costume party,” he said simply. “Or, well, your sister and my friend think I’m not dead. So maybe almost-died.”

 

She nodded in understanding. “My friend Clara almost died way back in 1865 but they didn’t find her body before she died for real, so the rest of her soul went somewhere and she’ll always be a ghost. Did you have fun at the party?”

 

“Ah... it wasn’t the most fun ever. There... wasn’t any candy.” That was true, there’d been cake, apple cider doughnuts, and Jell-O shots, but no actual candy.

 

“That’s a bummer.”

 

Jeremy nodded, but Michael cleared his throat.

 

“Jenna, so if Jeremy’s in Newark somewhere, which hospitals does that run it down to?”

 

Jenna’s hands didn’t fly. “I can already tell you that there could be a sign for a charity dinner in Newark in any hospital in NYC and surrounding towns. That poster really could be in a hospital here, now that I think about it.”

 

“But we’d know if he was at Beth Israel, right?”

 

“We would. So. Jeremy. Drink my coffee,” Jenna said, thrusting her still mostly full cup at him. “Actually, I’ll make more, and maybe you can take Mackenzie with you to help scour.”

 

“How does that work? I mean, me bringing Mackenzie?”

 

“All you need is for her to enter a talisman and carry that talisman when you go into the memories the other part of you soul has recorded. The more coffee you have, the longer you should be in there. So we should give Mackenzie the same amount.”

 

“Good thing coffee doesn’t affect ghosts, or you’d be exasperated with me, Jen,” Mackenzie giggled, pronouncing exasperated very carefully.

 

So Jenna went down to the coffee maker, filled it as full as she could, and brewed coffee. Cup after cup after cup. She didn’t stop until there were 40 cups of fresh coffee.

 

Her reasoning was this; “You drank a whole cup and got five minutes. If you and Mackenzie each drink twenty cups, you’ll get a hundred minutes.”

 

“Was it really five minutes? It didn’t feel like that long.”

 

“I watched the clock. It was five minutes.”

 

Jeremy nodded, but Michael cleared his throat.

 

“Problem is, a hundred minutes? It’s 4:30. School starts at 6:30. So we’ll have a half hour to get to school.”

 

“Yeah, the bus gets here around 5:50, 6:00, and I don’t have a car.”

 

“But Michael has a car!” Mackenzie piped up excitedly. “He drove here in it. You can just get dressed and ready while me and Jeremy are gone and then drive!”

 

“We’re idiots. Absolute idiots,” Jenna said. “Mackenzie, you shouldn’t have to explain that to us.”

 

“If I can just shower, I’ll be good to go, I don’t mind wearing these clothes again,” Michael said, someone who probably hadn’t washed his hoodie in three years.

 

Jenna nodded. “Let’s make sure they get there safely, and then we can get ready to go. Mackenzie-“

 

“Way ahead of you,” she said, flyingback upstairs and coming back down with a thick plastic purple bracelet, and slid it onto Jeremy’s wrist. “When I was alive, this was my favourite bracelet. It’s a talisman for me because of that.”

 

“Cool,” Jeremy said vaguely, examining the bracelet. It was covered in scratches and chips, obviously well-loved.

 

“Let’s not wait any longer, guys. I’ve put the coffee into the biggest cups we have, just keep drinking and don’t stop picking up cups,” Jenna said. “Mackenzie-“

 

“I know, I know, enter the talisman before he leaves.”

 

They didn’t say anything more, just began drinking coffee, being handed new cups as soon as they drained the new ones, and Jeremy was still reaching for another when he felt a tingle on his skin and saw Jenna and Michael fading away, Jenna empty handed but flashing a thumbs up.

 

Next thing Jeremy knew, he was being wheeled to a red helicopter, engine on and blades whirring, and Mackenzie flew out of a plastic purple bangle bracelet on his arm.

 

“Oh, come out of your body, Jeremy, they can’t see us. It’s a memory.”

 

“But... how come I can explore a memory? Wouldn’t I remember it from my point of view?”

 

“You are in your point of view, even if you come out of your body. Duh!”

 

Jeremy, while still skeptical, latched onto a gut feeling and suddenly, he was out of his body and could see himself, unconscious and covered in burns, being wheeled towards the helicopter.

 

“This isn’t far enough, I think. You need to go further into your memories, to when you arrive wherever you’re headed,” Mackenzie shouted over the roar of the helicopter.

 

“How do I do that?!” Jeremy yelled back.

 

“Just envision yourself! You’ll figure it out!” No sooner did the words leave her mouth then she was back in the bracelet.

 

Suddenly, the helicopter was landing. Jeremy wasn’t back in his body again, still on his own. Mackenzie popped out while they began to wheel his body into the hospital.

 

“Focus, Jeremy! Focus your power on the signs. Figure out what this hospital is called!”

 

The signs were blurry. Their coffee power was running out. They must’ve taken too long when Jeremy was going into the helicopter.

 

“Take my hand!” Mackenzie screamed. “Focus with me!”

 

Together, eyes wide open, they took hands and stared at the building before them. Somehow, Jeremy knew whatever they were doing, it was the right thing, even though he had absolutely no clue what it was.

 

But after what seemed like seconds but was probably much longer, the signs cleared.

 

“Columbus Hospital!” Jeremy exclaimed. Mackenzie beamed up at him.

 

“Let’s go inside and see if there’s anything else important we can figure out,” Mackenzie suggested.

 

They followed the horde of EMTs and Jeremy’s body into the hospital, until he ended up in a room, in the comatose ward.

 

“Hope someone comes to pick him up, or knows who he is,” a nurse commented, adjusting the IV in his arm. “They got him from a house fire after a big teenager party, and he was in such critical condition they had

 

Another nurse began to say something, but everything began to fade out and Mackenzie dove into the bracelet just in time.

 

Next thing they knew, they were back in the kitchen, with Jenna fully dressed and Michael looking basically the same, but probably smelling better.

 

“Columbus Hospital,” Jeremy gasped. “I’m in the comatose ward.”

 

“That’s in Newark. It checks out,” Jenna said, without even having to check her phone.

 

“Why wait until school’s over? Let’s go now,” Jeremy suggested. Michael looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. Jenna did the same.

 

“Let’s bring Brooke and Christine, maybe Rich with us,” Jenna suggested, fingers now already back on her screen.

 

Rich couldn’t come, but Brooke and Christine gladly skipped, all piling in Michael’s car and driving the hour and a half to Newark.

 

Jeremy and Mackenzie just sort of hung around in the backseat, while Michael drove, Jenna navigating, and Brooke and Christine in the back.

 

The drive was silent, other than Brooke and Christine’s conversations (ranging from ranking the cast members in RENT Live to the best place to get ice cream in Lancaster, Pennsylvania) and Google Maps on Jenna’s phone occasionally felling Michael where to turn. He did turn on the radio for a moment, but since everyone seemed content without it (including him; he had one headphone on) he turned it back off.

 

When they arrived, it was still only 7:30 in the morning, but they rushed through the rain into the hospital, and, soaked in rain and both ghosts in their talismans (Jenna wore the bracelet) practically threw themselves upon the front desk.

“Shouldn’t you kids be in school right now?” Was the receptionist’s first question, in a nasal voice, as she stared them down through the glasses resting on the tip of her nose.

 

“We think our friend is one of your comatose patients,” Jenna said simply.

 

The receptionist sighed. “Third floor, second hallway on the left, and you’ll find it pretty quick after that. I’ll buzz up a warning, they’ll let you all in.”

 

The elevator ride had everyone fidgeting, adrenaline pumping. They had thought for so long that Jeremy was dead. Now he was probably alive, and they were this close to finding him.

 

So when they got off, they waisted no time, booking it down to the second hall on the left and then down that hall, and the comatose ward was pretty obvious.

 

A nurse stood just inside and studied them all. “You’re the friends of a patient?”

 

“We hope,” Christine said. She barely waited for the nurse’s nod before she began racing down the ward, everyone else following close behind, studying one sleeping body and then the next, and next and next and next and next and next and next and-

 

“Jeremy!” She finally gasped, skidding to a stop in front of him. It was him, no question about it. The wavy hair, the freckles, the shape of his jaw proved it.

 

The others also provided confirmation of his identity, and while people were swarming around them, getting information and making calls, Michael and Christine slipped away, and he put his headphones over Jeremy’s head.

 

“I think you can hear me in there, Jeremy. Just... go wake up,” Michael said. But a second later, he reconnected his phone and un paused Walking On Sunshine.

 

And they waited.

 

Eventually, as Michael was giving the hospital Jeremy’s Dad’s number, Christine slipped out to go to the bathroom, and didn’t realise Brooke had followed her until she was nearly smacked in the face with the door.

 

“Ahh! Sorry!” Brooke exclaimed. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, it missed me.”

 

They just stood there, awkwardly, for a moment, until Christine started towards a stall. “I-I should go pee - that’s what I came here to-“

 

“Christine. Wait, please,” Brooke suddenly pleaded, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards her.

 

They were very close, suddenly, they could feel the other’s soft breath on their cheeks.

 

“Christine. I want Jeremy back, as much as you do, but... I know this isn’t the time but I have to do this.”

 

And suddenly her lips were on Christine’s, and her eyes were wide open, staring at the baby-faced blonde, until she suddenly kissed back, ignoring the clack of teeth that sent shudders down her spine, and grabbed Brooke by the back of her head, pulling her impossibly closer.

 

Christine was the first to break away, and quickly hopped for a stall. “I really need to pee, but keep talking! I’ve had a crush on you for weeks!”

 

Brooke chose a stall of her own, giggling. “Me too! I’ve always wanted to kiss a girl. You’re my first girl kiss. If that makes sense. Can we go out? Shit, I’m moving things too fast.”

 

“You’re good, Brooke. You’re my first kiss of any gender. And I’ll go out with you!” She flushed the toilet, pulled her pants up and went to wash her hands.

 

They kissed again, hands wet with hospital tap water, but knew they had to go back.

 

So they did.

 

And they waited.

 

Nurses kept questioning them, the questions really never seemed to end, and press began to show up, even. They guarded Jeremy, though, refusing to let anyone remove the headphones or touch Michael’s Note 7 phone.

 

They told them it was just for sentimental purposes. Nobody else was actually going to be told the real story, except maybe Jeremy’s dad.

 

And just as his dad was rushing into the room, unshaven, wearing khakis, brown dress shoes with the laces undone, and a sky blue button down, Jeremy Heere’s blue eyes fluttered open, and he woke, soul whole and ready to get on with his life.

 

And he woke surrounded by people who would help him do just that.

 

Jeremiah N. Heere was reported found, and recovering from several months in a coma.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
